The Steed Identity
by Gale Force
Summary: In which John Steed loses his identity, and Mrs. Peel becomes a cold hearted killer.


**I t hought I had uploaded this here long ago, but I don't see it on the list, so hereit is. It's also available in free PDF form from my website...**

**The Steed Identity**

**A story in five chapters**

**Chapter 1**

The man on his knees in the prison corridor was John Steed, but you couldn't tell it by looking at him.

It had happened quickly and unexpectedly. The guard had maced him, then grabbed his arm and fulcrumed him face first into the concrete wall of the prison corridor. Now Steed was on his knees, digging his fists into his eyes against the agony, the tears streaming from his eyes mixing with blood from his nose making an unpleasant lump in his mustache, and making his shirt a soggy mess. Oh god he was in pain.

Suddenly a strong arm encircled his shoulders, and a body pressed to his, comfortingly. A female body. "Basil," a woman's voice whispered urgently, close to his ear. "Basil, it's all right. It's me, Lola. It's all right, Basil."

So Lola thought it was all right, did she? Nice for her to think so. And he was...Basil? What kind of a name was that for a chap? Unless he was Basil Rathbone? Jesus, he was getting delirious. He dug his fists even harder into his eyes. He wished Lola would knock him unconscious, put him out of this agony.

"It's me, Basil." the woman repeated again, urgently. "It's me, Lola. We've come to get you out, remember? We're alright. I've taken care of that bastard of a guard for you." Her voice was very steely as she said this, and through the red mists of pain he was gratified to hear it. He felt the pressure of her arm around him as she tried to get him to rise. He tried to move, but felt himself falling forward, till she steadied him.

"Drummond," she whispered, a bit louder. "Help me with him."

Another pair of hands, men's hands this time, gripped him from the other side, and he found himself on his feet. He couldn't take his fists away from his eyes, so they each had a grip on one of his biceps, while the woman, Lola, had one arm around his waist as well. "Steady on, Basil," she whispered to him, calmly and comfortingly. "We're almost out."

He did nothing but move his legs, letting them steer him in the right direction and indicating what kind of speed they wanted out of him. His teeth were gritted against the pain, against the agonizing grunting that he wanted to let loose except he knew the need for quiet here.

Suddenly they came to a stop, and another voice, a Cockney man's voice, hissed "Bleedin' hell. What's this? He can't see? Leave him! He's going to be a liability!"

"He's who we came for, you idiot," Lola's voice snapped. "We're almost out of here so let's go, damn you."

"Right, right," the Cockney mumbled. Then they were moving again. He could do nothing except follow the lead of his two escorts and keep his teeth gritted together. They seemed to know where they were going without hesitation and thank god for that. Suddenly he felt himself being led through a door and then out into fresh air, with his feet scraping on pavement. He was jerked to a sudden halt, there was the sound of a car door opening, then Lola raised a hand and put it against the back of his head. "We're at the car, Basil. Bend yourself down and crawl in."

Somehow he found himself in the backseat of the car, sliding all the way over to the far end. Lola got in next to him and he was grateful for the warmth of her leg against his, the pressure of her arm over his shoulders, her other hand on his chest. A slight jolt as someone else, that Drummond fellow, got in with them.

"It's all right, Basil," Lola said again, as the engine started and the car started moving forward at a sedate pace. "We're only twenty minutes from the house. We'll get you cleaned up and feeling as good as new."

Basil. Was that his name, Basil? It didn't sound familiar at all. But then, neither did Lola or Lola's voice and yet he must know her. _He couldn't remember his name_. He couldn't remember _anything_. He'd been...he must have been...in prison, and they were breaking him out. And he had to wait another twenty minutes before they could do something to stop this pain? He couldn't help it - a moan escaped through gritted teeth.

"Drummond," Lola snapped. "Verret. Finley. Does one of you have a flask? Is there _some_ kind of liquour in this car?"

"What a load of old cobblers," Verret - the Cockney, said. "So this is the great Basil."

He felt Lola move beside him. She leaned forward in a violent motion and...he heard a thud and a gasp of pain. Had she actually shoved Verret's head into the dashboard? That's certainly what it sounded like! Good for her!

"That's just a taste, Verret," she said coldly, settling back in her seat. "And when Basil regains the use of his eyes he's not going to be happy with you, so you'd better not say another word."

"Uh, here, Lola," came Drummond's voice - an American voice. "Whisky."

"Thank you, Drummond."

He heard the sound of the cap being unscrewed, and then, "Here, Basil, I'm bringing it to your lips."

He opened his mouth and the golden elixir was pouring down his throat. He swallowed. The fireball hit him in the belly and exploded outward, causing him to shiver uncontrollably for a few seconds. But it felt great. The pain in his head lessened just a trifle.

He'd better say something. Comfort Lola. "I'm all right," he said thickly. "Just..." he wasn't going to say _anything_ about losing his memory. There was at least one unfriendly person in this car, and it seemed he had a reputation that he'd better be able to live up to. "Just...can't see."

Lola squeezed his shoulders. "That's just the mace. We'll get that cleaned up as soon as we get to the house. We're in the clear now."

It was impossible to think, feeling like this. He wasn't even going to _try_ to think. Thinking was for later. All he was trying to do was survive, to not break down and blubber like a baby. He concentrated only on the warmth of Lola's knee against his, her arms around him, and the effort of getting air into his lungs between gritted teeth, for air didn't seem to be going through his nose.

The car stopped, car doors opened, he levered himself out and stood, waiting. Again Drummond and Lola took his arms, and helped him into the house. "Let's take him into the bathroom in my room, Drummond." Lola said. "Then you can leave him to me."

She helped him undress and put him into the shower, turning the water to a nice, hot temperature. "Just let it run over your face," she told him calmly. "Don't try to open your eyes yet. Just let the water wash over your eyes. I'm holding you, don't worry. Stay here as long as you need to."

God it felt good. The needles of water pelted his face, pelted his eyelids, but it was a good pain, and there was warmth, warmth everywhere. Lola's hands were on his shoulders...he knew she must be getting soaked. "I wish..." he tried to say, swallowed bile, "Get in with me."

"Why, 'Basil'," Lola said. There was a tone in her voice when she'd said his name that he couldn't identify, but then she chuckled softly and said, "Alright. Prop yourself against the wall for a second or two."

He couldn't hear her undressing, but that's what she must have done because when he felt her body next to his in the shower it was smooth and soft. She embraced him, and he felt her breasts against his chest and he lowered his head. Her lips met his. They kissed, long and deeply.

"God I was frightened back there," she whispered, holding him tightly.

"You didn't show it." he murmured. Somehow he knew she'd take that as a compliment.

"Well, it's all right now. We'll get your eyes cleaned up. By tomorrow you should be able to see fine. You'll have to teach Verret a lesson, though."

"Must I? I heard you take care of him."

He heard her chuckle. "Rather good, wasn't it. Must remain in character, eh?"

He felt her raise her head, and once more bent his mouth to hers.

When they parted again she said, "This isn't doing your eyes any good, and we've got to get those cleaned out. Behave yourself, 'Basil.'

Again she had pronounced his name in that funny way, as if it were an in-joke that they shared. But he stood quietly, his hands resting on her hips, as she took a washcloth and gently wiped his eyes. Let the water play over his face and then wiped his eyes once more. Again and again she did this...until finally he tried to open his eyes and saw little slits of light and a blur of pink...he could see her.

After another half hour, Lola helped him out of the shower. They toweled themselves off, and then Lola led him to the bed. He heard her pull the bedspread and a blanket back, and then she placed her arms on him in order to help him into bed. He wasn't having any of that. She could _see _what he wanted. He pressed himself up to her, and she lay back underneath him with an amused chuckle. His eyes were half-open, he could see her, the water-darkened blond hair, the tanned face, the blue eyes with a laughing glint in them, the lips open invitingly. He tugged her up a bit further onto the bed and then climbed astride her. "I've been waiting for this, " he said huskily. "All right?"

"All right," she murmured, reaching for him.

After they were finished, he lay back, breathing deeply. "A perfect end to a perfect day," he said.

Lola actually laughed out loud. "You're incorrigible, 'Basil."'

She scooched close to him, and put an arm across his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her shoulders, squeezed briefly, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

Soon she was asleep, but he lay awake, staring with half-closed eyes at the ceiling, and now there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't recognized Lola. She'd been good...really good...but it hadn't sparked any kind of memory. And he couldn't remember his name. And he was some kind of criminal. That didn't ring a bell, either. But if he was a criminal...then Lola must be one also.

He raised his free hand to his face, and made as if to pinch the bridge of his nose. But as he touched it his eyes opened wide with pain, which caused him to wince with yet more pain. God but his nose was tender. It must be broken. He closed his eyes. Of course. Just what he needed. He brought his hand down, and began to beat a thoughtful tattoo on his chest...but it was no good...slowly his fingers stopped moving and he fell asleep.

**Chapter 2**

**I.**

When he woke up, Lola was gone. He felt an inexplicable sense of loss, until he heard noises in the lav and realized she must be in there. He looked up at the ceiling. His heart sank. No miraculous memory recovery. Basil...he said to himself...Basil...he didn't even know his last name. Very slowly he got out of bed. There was a mirror above a wardrobe on one side of the room. He walked over to it and looked at his reflection...something he hadn't done last night.

He didn't recognize himself. He was...what, about six foot three? Salt and pepper hair cut short, bushy eyebrows over bright red eyes...and a black crescent under each eye..."Good God," he murmured aloud. He forced himself to continue the catalog...a long, straight nose, a toothbrush mustache, full lips, a bit of a beard stubble. Fortyish, he must be.

He turned to one side...his shoulders sloped a bit. He flexed his bicep...not too bad. Stomach...just a bit of a paunch there. Was he 'the great Basil,' as that Cockney git had put it the other night? Well, perhaps these eyes of his would strike fear into the hearts of men, but that was about it.

Lola entered the room, elegant silk bathrobe trailing behind her, like something out of an old Jean Harlow movie. She caught sight of him, and stopped, her face a study. "Oh,..." her lips moved, but he couldn't tell what the next word she said was. She came over to him. She had recovered herself in that second. "You're a sight," she told him, smiling.

"I look like a raccoon," he admitted. "But I'm a raccoon who can see."

"Yes." She caressed the side of his cheek with her hand, and he moved closer and kissed her.

She broke the kiss first. "Well, we'd better get dressed and go meet the goons. Oops." She put her hand to her mouth and chuckled. "I shouldn't talk like that," she said, very quietly, moving her finger in a circular motion around the room and then pointing to her ear. What was she indicating - the room might be bugged?

"Ye-es..." he said. He swallowed. "Lola..."

"Something wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"I...Lola...I..." he shrugged, and smiled briefly. "Nothing. I'll get dressed."

**II.**

They followed their noses to the dining room. Five men were seated around the table, plates heaped high before them. A half-dozen chafing dishes resided on the sideboard. The men looked up as they entered. The one with the knot in the center of his forehead must be Verret, the great Cockney git. They were tough looking men. He'd better do something to establish himself right away.

"All right, gentlemen," he said, "thanks very much for getting me out, last night. Now, take a good look at the eyes, because I don't want to hear anything more about them. Right?" He removed the dark sunglasses that Lola had found for him, leaned forward onto the table and looked directly at Verret. Verret's eyes dropped to his plate.

There were various hasty murmurs of assent.

"Right," he said, putting the glasses back on. He turned to look at Lola. "After you, my dear."

After they sat down with their full plates, the man on the corner cleared his throat. He had an American accent, and he recognized the voice even before the man named himself. "Right, I guess we'd better introduce ourselves. I'm Drummond. This is Howard. Uh...him in the middle is Verret. Then there's Finley. And that's Wilde."

He nodded at them. "Gentlemen."

"Galaxy should be here in a few minutes," Drummond said.

Galaxy? And just who was Galaxy? Was he supposed to _know_ Galaxy?

"That will give us time to finish our breakfast then, won't it, Lola?" he said calmly.

She nodded, a faint smile on her lips.

**III.**

Galaxy was a woman. A large woman, with a Margaret Rutherfordish-air, commanding both in size and presence. She led the way into a large, oak-paneled office, and took her place behind a desk which looked immense until she sat there. He and Lola seated themselves in comfortable leather chairs facing her.

Galaxy steepled her fingers and looked at them both for some seconds. He looked at Lola out of the corner of his eye, and saw her relaxed, legs crossed gracefully, quite composed. But she wasn't speaking. Clearly this was Galaxy's party. He composed his features into a look of mild inquiry.

"Lola," Galaxy said at last. "Basil. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am so glad we were able to assist you in ...exiting your places of incarceration."

"And we appreciate it," Lola said.

Galaxy nodded majestically. She bent her gaze on him. "Basil. Your glasses, if you please."

He removed the sunglasses, and she looked at his eyes, her face expressionless. Then she nodded, and he took this as a sign to return the glasses to his eyes.

"An unfortunate incident," Galaxy said. "And while the style of wearing dark glasses indoors has a certain charm, it won't do for our purposes. Nothing must draw attention to you two. The timetable must be put back...one week, I think. That should give your eyes more than sufficient time to heal."

He nodded. "Seven days should be ample, Galaxy."

"Good. And perhaps its for the best. I want this assassination to be quick and clean, with no muss and no fuss."

Had she said..._assassination_?

"You've both been...on ice...for the last two years. While your skills and knowledge are of course still there, which is why I wanted you for this organization and for this particular...um, job, shall we say , it is inevitable that there is some dulling of the senses. You'll now have seven days to get back in shape, as it were."

Again he looked at Lola out of the corner of his eye. Again she appeared calm, composed. _Assassination_? They were _assassins_? Him, and his beautiful, passionate Lola? Cold-blooded killers?

"You have facilities here?" Lola asked. "Target range? Dojo?"

"Of course. Everything you need. A weapons room, a weight room. Even a full scale obstacle course out in the grounds. I believe in keeping my agents in the peak of condition. In fact..."

She looked from him to Lola and back.

"There's no reason for you and Lola to leave the grounds at all in the next seven days. We have a cordon bleu chef, a game room, a library, even our own movie theatre."

His head was still reeling from the assassination revelation, but he was doing his best to concentrate. Should he assert himself here? Play the part of big, bad Basil? Because it certainly sounded like Galaxy didn't want them to leave the grounds...at all.

What the hell? he thought.

"There may be no reason to leave the grounds," he said, attempting an easy tone, "but what if we wanted to leave the grounds, just for the hell of it? Is that acceptable?"

Galaxy smiled. "Of course, Basil. You are not prisoners here. I have perfect trust in all of my associates, and you and Lola are now the cream of the crop."

He nodded, to show he was satisfied. "All right then. As you say, there's no reason for us to leave. Especially when there must be broadcasts out after us." He glanced at Lola as he said this, and she nodded.

"That's a point," Lola said. "We need to change our appearance."

Galaxy nodded also. "I have a hairstylist on hand. I suggest dye jobs and new hairstyles. That's usually enough to change one's appearance completely. "

"I was thinking of something else," Lola said, casually, giving him a mischievous smile. She seemed to be trying to give him a cue, he thought, but he couldn't react to it because he didn't know what she wanted! He merely shrugged and smiled weakly. She looked at him for a couple more seconds, then turned to Galaxy, who said, "What do you mean?"

"This is going to sound like science fiction," Lola said slowly, "but believe me, it's true. There's a machine. The Kellmar Machine. It is a ...thought transfer device. More than that. It's a soul transfer device. It's a machine that would allow us - Basil and me, to be transported into the bodies of anyone else whom we choose."

His mouth went dry. Science fiction indeed, but since Lola was saying it, it must be true. What kind of a nightmare was he in?"

Galaxy was speaking. He concentrated desperately. "Your history is not unknown to me, Lola. I have heard of this machine. That was your mission, two years ago, wasn't it? To take over the bodies of John Steed and Emma Peel. But, you failed. The machine was destroyed."

"The machine was _not_ destroyed," Lola said calmly. "Or rather, there were two. One was stashed away as a backup. And I know where it is."

Galaxy stared at Lola for several seconds. "If this machine is still operational...there is_ nothing_ we could not accomplish."

Lola smiled triumphantly. "Precisely. Galaxy, I suggest you let us complete that mission. We take over the bodies of Steed and Mrs. Peel. They go into _our_ bodies, and then, um," she glanced at him with a smile on her lips, "We let Basil and Lola be captured again. Or better yet, killed while attempting to escape."

He took off the sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, then put them back on. Good God. Lola...talking so casually about murder. And he...obviously he was as unprincipled as she was. This was more than a nightmare. This was the _Twilight Zone_. Why was it that he could remember the names and plots of television shows but he couldn't even remember his own name?

"Yes, Basil?" said Galaxy.

She wanted him to speak? Or she was just concerned because he'd rubbed his eyes? He managed what he hoped was an insouciant grin. "Lola and I think as one in this matter."

Galaxy nodded. "Well. You've given me something to think about. To have Steed and Emma Peel working for me...oh, yes..._anything _could be accomplished. Where is this machine, Lola?"

Lola shook her head. 'I'd rather not say at this precise moment, Galaxy. Please understand. We are now your..top agents. And we're very grateful to you. But that machine...the power of that machine is indescribable. While we trust you - we don't trust your agents. Not with that machine."

Galaxy stared at her for a long time. "I take your point, Lola," she said at last. "You want this machine to be...exclusive."

"Yes. Once we capture Steed and Mrs. Peel, we take them to that machine. You come along, of course. We make the transference then. Only we three will know where that machine is or that it even exists."

Galaxy nodded. "Very well. I shall...institute proceedings. Find out where Steed and Emma are at this exact moment. But, I wonder if they will be so easy to capture."

"We caught them two years ago with ease," Lola said briskly. "It's because we didn't kill them right away that the mission failed. Give those two the slightest of avenues for victory and they will find a way to win out. We won't make that mistake again, Galaxy."

"I believe you. Very well. As I said, I shall have Steed and Emma located for you. It will be a simple task."

"Simple? You're highly placed then, Galaxy, in the government?" Lola said casually.

Galaxy smirked. "Not me, Lola. But I have a couple of very good friends who are. Leave everything to me. Now," she continued briskly, "I see it's almost ten. The boys will be at the firing range. Why don't you go in and show them what you can do?"

"Lovely," said Lola, rising. "Will you be joining us?"

"I'll stop by later on. See how you're doing."

As they walked in the direction of the firing range, following Galaxy's directions, Lola said very quietly, "Gun range. Dojo. Obstacle course. They're going to be testing us."

"Untrusting sods," he said, a trifle more viciously than he meant to sound. But really. Shooting guns. Beating up people. Running over an obstacle course. And him without a memory or knowledge of _any_ of that. He was up the creek without a paddle, without a canoe, and without a creek.

"Are your eyes still troubling you?" she asked.

If he did badly - and he would, he'd need _some_ kind of excuse. "They're bothering me a bit," he said, trying to make it sound as if it were a grudging omission.

She caressed his arm. "Not to worry. I'll put on a show for them."

The gun range was one long room at the end of the house. At the far wall, hanging from hooks, were targets, which could be brought forward or back on a ceiling rail a specified number of meters. In the front of the room were five alcoves, in which the shooters stood while they took their turns. All five of them were there, wearing ear protectors and carrying...Berettas, he recognized in surprise. He was shocked at the intensity of anger he felt. How could he know the names of those guns, and not remember his own name, where he was born, who his family was, nothing! He glanced out at the targets...shots scattered all around but very few in the heart area of _any_ of the targets. His heart rose just a bit...maybe he wouldn't look so bad after all.

"Galaxy suggested we come down," Lola said cheerfully. "Basil's eyes are still bothering him, but I thought I'd like to give it a go. Set up a target for me, Verret."

While Verret selected a clean target and placed it in position, Lola put on a pair of ear protectors, then took the pistol Munsey held out to her. "Right," she said. She stepped into one of the alcoves, while the men gathered around behind her, anticipatory smirks on their faces. Lola turned her body so that she faced the target from the side, extended her arm, and pulled the trigger seven times.

When the echo of the shots died away, there were six very silent men in the firing range. Lola had aimed at the crotch of her target, and where there had once been a crotch there was now one big hole.

Lola looked back at them, grinning. Then, with practiced ease, she shook out the expended clip and slipped in a new one. This time she took up a position facing the target, her left hand supporting the butt of the gun, her legs slightly flexed. And then she pulled the trigger seven times.

Verret pressed the button which brought the target sliding up to them. He picked it off the hook and looked at it, swallowing hard, and then handed it to Munsey, who handed it to Wilde, who handed it to another man until they'd all had a look at it. The last seven bullets had gone straight through the heart.

Steed/Basil gestured at Lola. "I'm with her," he said casually.

Only Drummond and Lola laughed. The others were only able to manage weak smiles. Verret's face was rather white.

"Well," Steed/Basil said, " I'm going to go to my room for a little bit. Have fun."

He took a long shower, resting his forehead against the cold porcelain while the hot water pelted his back and ran down his legs. Then he toweled himself dry and slipped into the bed where he lay, staring at the ceiling out of his red eyes.

Was he really a cold-blooded killer? The mere thought of it filled him with abhorrence. He _could_ kill, certainly. People who didn't deserve to live. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles, scum like that. He'd put them down without compunction. But...but..._he_ was apparently a murderer, too. Lola was a murderer. So on the one hand, _now_, with no memory, he thought murderers were scum, but _with _his memory he had no problem with it? How could that be?

And what of Lola, he wondered. If she lost her memory, would she _still_ be a cold-blooded killer? Or would she be...like him...

**V.**

They dined _en famille_ that night - everyone present except Galaxy. What did cold-blooded assassins talk about when they sat down to dine, he wondered.

Horses, apparently. And how much money was lost on them.

Lola and he sat together, eating quietly. They excused themselves afterwards, and went to their room.

"You were awfully quiet tonight, Basil," Lola said. "Are you feeling all right?"

He kissed her. "I'm fine. Just very tired. I'm going to go to bed early."

"All right. I brought a book from the library."

"Oh, what are you reading?"

She displayed the cover. _Evil Under The Sun_, by Agatha Christie. "I was in the mood for a little fluff," she explained. "Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers seem to be the fiction writers of choice in this household. Tea cosy mysteries."

"I'm surprised. I would have expected Mickey Spillane. James Hadley Chase. Or perhaps Eric Ambler."

She laughed, that lovely contralto laugh of hers that had been sending shivers up his spine ever since the first time he had heard it. "Good night, my dear," he said quickly, turning over and burying his face in a pillow.

**VI.**

The next two days went by very quickly. With the excuse of his eyes, he didn't have to indulge in any shootings or any fisticuffs. But that was all right because Lola took up the slack. She 'bouted' with all of the men, in any martial art they proposed, and beat all of them except Drummond, to whom she lost at judo. She made up for that loss on the fencing piste. And on the firing range she had no equal.

As he watched her, his admiration could not help but grow. She must have been training in the martial arts for years. She was so skilled, so fast, confident and powerful. How had she come to acquire all these skills? A sickening thought occurred to him - had she seen her career, as a hired assassin, and decided to train for it from an early age?

And yet, she was so poised, so elegant, so feminine, intelligent and sophisticated with him. In the evenings they discussed classical music, the theatre, philosophy, history, exchanging ideas and opinions, their senses of humor matching, everything.

Why, _why_ could he remember plays that he must have seen over two years ago, music he'd heard, opinions on politics he'd had, and yet he couldn't remember his own name? And more than that. If these were his true feelings, for the theatre, for the movies, for the arts, for philosophy, than couldn't they be his true feelings for killing? And if so, _how_ could he have been a conscienceless killer? Had he done it all for the love of Lola?

**VII.**

The next morning, he entered the firing range with Lola to find themselves the sole occupants of the place. Well. Well. If he were going to find out his shooting skills, now was the time to do it. Perhaps he should have Lola shoot the target out for him, and then he could pass it off as his own. He sighed.

"Here you go, 'Basil,"' Lola said, placing his ear defenders over his ears and giving his face a caress. "Give it your best shot."

He took the gun she handed him. He stood facing the target, flexed his knees a bit, and supported the butt of the gun with one palm while aiming with the other. He breathed and squeezed simultaneously. Had it gone into the bullseye? He squeezed the trigger again, and again, and again. When he'd finished the clip Lola pressed the button and the target came zooming forward. He looked at it. Not quite as good as Lola's, but better than the five apes in men's clothing. Two bullet holes through the heart, the rest scattered around it within a couple of inches.

"Basil, baby," Lola said, in a seductive murmur, "For someone who hates guns, you shoot very well."

"Yes," he said, absently. It had been easy. So easy. Point, pull, and bullets struck the target. If it had been a human being he'd be dead now. So, his memory was gone but he could still shoot. Was it safe to assume he could probably still...kick butt, as the Americans said, as well? Very likely. He was still a first class killing machine.

**VIII.**

They were walking arm and arm through the obstacle course. Lola was amusing herself, and him, by pointing out various obstacles and making caustic comments.

So, he thought to himself. So. He _was _a killer.

But, he didn't want to be. And he didn't want Lola to be.

They were in the obstacle course, to be sure, but it was out in the open and there was no way it could be bugged. He turned, faced Lola, grabbed her arms. "Do you love me?" he demanded.

She stared at him, half stunned, half laughing. "What kind of question is that?"

He tightened his grip and pulled her closer, roughly. "Do you love me?"

She stared at him, at the urgent look in his eyes, the naked appeal in his face.

"Yes." she said, very quietly.

He kissed her, crushing her to him, pressing her warmth to him. Her arms wrapped around his back. Finally they broke apart. Still holding her, he said, hoarsely, "Let's get out of this."

"What?"

"Let's get _out_ of this. We don't have to do this."

His heart sank. She looked stunned, unbelieving - unaccepting.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong? Things are going great! We can't leave now!"

"Please, Lola," he said.

Her eyes widened. Very slowly she said, "Lola?" Her face was horror-struck.

"Don't look at me like that, Lola," he said desperately. "I just want us both out of this, that's all."

Now she grabbed _his_ arms, shook him. "What's your name?" she demanded. "Who are you?"

He stood in front of her, defenseless. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Ever since the night when I got slammed into the wall...I can't remember. I don't know who I am."

"My God," she said. "My God. I should have known. Listen, listen, it's all right. You're not..." at that very second, she was interrupted by a very shrill whistle. She whirled around, and only a few meters away from them, Drummond and Wilde were approaching.

"Damn," she said softly. She whirled back to him, taking his hands. "It's all right," she told him urgently, staring into his eyes. "It's not what you think, okay? We're going to make it through this...hullo Drummond, Wilde. Ready to try the obstacle course?"

"Galaxy sent us to fetch you," Munsey replied. "She said it was urgent."

"Then let's not keep her waiting." Lola took his hand, and they started walking briskly towards the house.

All right, he said to himself, all right. The rubicon was passed, and Lola as still at his side. And with her at his side, he could do anything. He glanced down at her, lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. She winked at him.

**Chapter 3**

"Ah, Basil. Lola." Galaxy greeted them warmly. "Set yourselves down, set yourselves down. I have exciting news."

Lola settled herself into a chair, and he perched on the seat arm, continuing to hold her hand. Munsey and Wilde found chairs of their own. So, the gang was all there.

Galaxy steepled her fingers together. "Lola. Things moved faster than I had expected. Mrs. Emma Peel has already been isolated. Or rather, she will be isolated tonight. We cannot lose this opportunity. We take her tonight."

He gripped Lola's hand hard. No. No.

"That's wonderful, Galaxy," Lola said calmly. "How on earth did you manage it so quickly?

Galaxy smirked. "I told you I had friends in high places. I had one of them invite Mrs. Peel to a bridge tournament tonight - in a rather isolated spot. Her friend Steed is _not_ accompanying her."

Lola laughed, that low contralto laugh. "Poor Mrs. Peel."

"Yes," 'Basil' said, through tight lips. "Poor Mrs. Peel."

"I knew you'd be pleased. So - in order to get their in time you have to leave now. Lola. Drummond, Finley, and Wilde."

"Wait a minute," he said. "What about me?"

"The tournament is taking place at a posh country estate," Galaxy told him. "Sunglasses at night are more unacceptable than sunglasses indoors during the day."

"I should be in the car, when they bring her out," he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. What could he say to convince her? Why wasn't Lola saying something? If Emma Peel was anything like Lola... "You're going after Emma Peel, remember. Three men and Lola are not enough."

"On the contrary," Lola said, disengaging his hand and poking him in a playful manner. "Three men and Lola are too many. I can handle Mrs. Peel quite well on my own. Both in capturing her and in...disposing of her afterwards, Galaxy."

"Oh, quite. You and I alone will be there for the disposal, Lola, never fear. But I want you accompanied by some back up. Basil, I appreciate the fact that you and Lola work as one, but not this time. You have not yet shown that you are recovered from your incarceration. You will remain here. We will return...when we return. Gentlemen, Lola, let us go."

"Lola," he turned to her.

"It's all _right_, Basil," she told him, grasping his hands in hers and gazing into his eyes. "It's all right. Trust me."

As he watched them go, hot rage built up inside him. He'd outsmarted himself. Avoided the fighting, the gunplay, thinking he was so clever to do so, and as a result he was trapped inside this house while Lola was free to leave. And she'd not hesitated to do so, damn her. 'It will be all right," indeed. God, he wanted to believe her...he wanted to trust her...but he didn't.

He pivoted to see Verret and Howard looking at him, grinning.

"Right," he said savagely. "Let's go to the dojo, gentlemen."

Once in the dojo, the men slipped off their shoes, but he was raging too much to bother with changing into uniforms of any kind. "Freestyle, gentlemen. Whatever you want to do," he said.

Verret came at him first, swinging his arms like huge windmills. His eyes widened as he saw the big bulk coming at him, but he wasn't _thinking_ in his reactions. It was all instinctual, as if years of training his muscles had taught them what to do and they needed no input from his brain to react. There was no hesitation. He slid inside the whirling fists, wrapped his arms around Verret's back, lifted him up, and rushed him into the wall which Verret hit, hard. He dropped Verret, who slid down to his knees, arcing his back against the pain, and turned to Howard.

Howard assumed the stance of a karateka. He circled him, bouncing lightly on his feet. Howard gathered himself, sidestepped and launched a lightning fast roundhouse kick at his head. He block the kick by catching it against his arms, and the impact sent his forearms shrieking in pain. Howard laughed, moved to his left, and then spun around with a back kick. It was so quick that it caught him in the belly and sent him staggering backward.

Paunch or not, he could take a kick. He straightened, sucking in air, and the next time Howard came at him he grabbed the kicking leg - and kicked Howard's other leg out from under him.

He sensed movement behind him and hunched over just as Verret landed on his back. He used that momentum to rush forward toward the wall, pivoted at the last moment, and once more sent Verret's back crashing into it.

He was breathing hard, but the adrenalin was flowing and god it felt good. He went after Howard, and incredibly, Howard backed away, fear in his face. Perhaps because of the expression that Howard could see on _his_ face. He went after him, grabbed Howard by the shirt with one hand and punched him in the mouth with the other. He brought his hand back to hit again.

Howard spat blood, and grabbed at his arm. At that precise moment Verret grabbed him from the other side, and they rushed him into the wall. He sank to his knees, clutching his face.

A fireball of light had exploded in his head, and memory came flooding back. Or rather, the last three months evaporated away, and when John Steed looked up he saw two men looming over him, and knew they must have attacked him. He exploded into action.

The two men weren't trying to fight him. They were backing away, desperately trying to block his blows while they screamed at him, "Basil, Basil, stop! Take it easy. Take it easy!"

He stopped dead, as his eyes went past the two men and he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He knew that face...and it wasn't his. Two years ago...two years ago...Basil and Lola and the thought transfer machine of Professor Kellmar. And now...now...he was back in the body of Basil.

He went up to the mirror, raised his hand to his face, and watched the apparition in the mirror raise its hand to its face. It was a face with pinkish eyes and fading black crescents underneath them and that damn toothbrush mustache.

Two frightened faces appeared behind him.

"Basil, Basil, we're sorry, man. Are you okay?"

Steed swallowed hard. He turned and managed an insouciant smile. "I apologize, gentlemen. I got a bit carried away, didn't I?"

"You can say that again," one of the men said with a smile. "Jesus, you're as good as Lola. Galaxy sure made a mistake, not letting you go along with them."

"Uh, yes, Galaxy did." Steed agreed. A cold stab of apprehension went through his heart. Lola. He remembered Lola. One of the most vicious women he'd ever met. And if _he_ was in Basil's body again...where was Basil? And where was Emma Peel?

"You know something, that last little blow did something to the old brain pan. The last couple of hours are...a blur to me, gentlemen. Refresh my memory, will you?"

The two men he'd been fighting exchanged glances, but they weren't glances of derision. He'd won their respect with his fighting skill, and men who fought for any length of time could understand the old brain pan getting scrambled every now and then.

"You can fill me in over a pint," he said, easily, clapping the taller one on the shoulder.

What they told him, over their drinks, did not fill him with joy. Lola and three men had gone to a lonely estate to kidnap someone named Emma Peel. "Lola wanted to go on her own," the man with the knot on his forehead said, "She said she'd have no trouble taking her and really, Basil, we all knew that was true. But Galaxy wouldn't have it. She sent Munsey, Wilde and Finley along, too."

"And they're bringing her back here?" Steed said carefully.

The two men shrugged and exchanged glances. "I'm not sure on that point," the knotted one said. "They were talking like they were going to dispose of her."

"But that didn't make sense," the other one interjected. "What was it Galaxy said? She was going to be there for the capturing of her and in...disposing of her afterwards. That's what she said. But she said it funny, like when they were saying disposal they weren't really meaning _disposal_ if you follow me.

"Ah, the English language," Steed said. "So open to misinterpretation, innuendo and mistake. Ironic, isn't it, that we all speak the same language and yet so rarely understand each other."

"Uh, yeah, right. But what the 'ell. What's the odds so long as you're happy, eh? I've had enough of this Let's go play a little snooker, shall we?"

"Certainly."

He didn't want to play snooker with these gobs. He wanted to get out after Lola and Emma Peel and find out what was going on. But he couldn't. They'd made it clear that Galaxy was the only one who knew where this remote country house was. There was no sense rocketing around trying to find them. Mrs. Peel was just going to have to fend for herself.

Steed poured himself a generous splash of whiskey and watched, unseeing, as the man with the knot on his head concentrated on the snooker table.

The minutes crawled by, and turned into hours which crawled by even slower. Steed was drinking rather liberally by the end of it, and as a result was losing very badly at snooker. His popularity with the two chaps increased.

They heard the slam of a door, and Steed was at the door of the billiard room in a flash, followed closely by Verret and Howard.

Three men were standing in the hallway, looking rather grim. "Where's Lola?" demanded Steed.

"She had to stay," the one with the Roman haircut said, "and I need a drink."

They trooped into the living room and Drummond headed for the bar. Steed followed him and jerked him around. "Where's Lola?" he demanded.

Drummond downed his drink and poured another one. "I'll tell you just what happened," he said. "We got to the house, and we got this Mrs. Peel dame with no problem. She must have been drugged, or something, because she didn't put up any fight when we put her in the car. Galaxy had Wilde and Finley stay behind, and I drove them almost halfway back to London. We came to another country house. Galaxy told me to stay with the car, and she and Lola dragged Mrs. Peel into the place.

Well, I was curious. I knew Galaxy would kill me if she found me, but I was careful. I got into the house, and I saw what they were doing. There was this huge machine, like something out of a horror movie. Lola was sitting in one chair, and Mrs. Peel in another, and Galaxy pressed some switches, and there were all these lights flashing, and then all of a sudden Lola went unconscious and Mrs. Peel stood up and started talking like Lola! And then...and then...Galaxy shot her."

Steed gripped him by the arm so hard he winced. "_Who _did Galaxy shoot?" he said hoarsely.

"I don't know!" Drummond cried. "She shot Lola, Lola's body, I mean, but I don't think Lola was in it. I think Lola was in Mrs. Peel's body. And that Lola, she wasn't best pleased, I can tell you. She said Galaxy should have left that pleasure to her!"

Steed's heart turned to ice, and there was a tremendous roaring in his ears. The glass in his hand shattered into millions of pieces and blood dripped unheeding down onto the floor.

"Where is she now?" he gritted.

"Well, I ran like hell back for the car. I don't know what they did with the body, but Mrs. Peel...I mean Lola-in-Mrs.-Peel's body, and Galaxy came back. I drove them back to that house, and Lola said she had to stay there, because that bridge tournament was going on all weekend long. She told me to tell you, Basil, that she'd be coming here for a visit on Monday when it wouldn't be so conspicuous. She said you weren't to worry about her."

It took all of his willpower for Steed to reach casually into his breast pocket, pull out a handkerchief, and wrap it around his hand, tsk tsking the while. "This house, where she's staying," he said casually. "What's the address?"

"Uh, 123 Gloster Lane, up Leicester way," Drummond said, "but why? What are you going to do?"

Steed grinned. It felt like a death's head grin to him but hopefully it looked lascivious to the rest of them. "This kind of thing always turns me on," he said, "and I don't think Lola should be alone tonight. I'm going to pay her a visit. We needn't tell Galaxy. Give me the keys to the car, Drummond."

Wordlessly, Drummond handed over the keys.

"Right, gentlemen." he said, smiling wolfishly. "Don't wait up."

**Chapter 4**

**I.**

Steed drove into the first petrol station he saw, skidding to a halt in front of the pumps with a screech of brakes. The attendant began filling the tank while he strode into the shop and bought a newspaper. November 6. November 6. And the last day he remembered was...when...back in August? Yes, August, late August...he'd taken Mrs. Peel to a steeplechase.

Steed threw a sheaf of pound notes at the clerk, ran back to the car and left the attendant gaping as he got back onto the road in a squeal of tires.

Three months of his life, gone. And when he'd been brought back to himself he was in the body of Basil the Butcher. He should stop the car. He should call Major Bee, find out the last time he'd been in contact with the Department. Find out if he and Mrs. Peel had been sent out on an assignment, and what it had been. That would be the wise thing to do. The responsible thing to do. But that was not what he was going to do. He was not going to stop until he got to 123 Gloster Lane, Leicester.

Steed pressed down on the accelerator and the grey Peugot leaped forward and ate up the kilometers voraciously.

Mrs. Peel couldn't be dead. She couldn't.

Steed took his hands off the wheel and wiped the dampness off on his slacks. He blinked away the hot wetness in his eyes.

Mrs. Peel couldn't be dead. She had nine lives, like a cat. She could get herself out of jams as easily as he...and when she couldn't he was always there to rescue her.

Always.

But this time...he'd lost his memory somehow. She'd been in trouble, and he hadn't known he'd had to rescue her. Had she been waiting for him...confident that he'd be riding in on his white charger at any moment to save the day?

Steed turned on the radio, twisted the knob til he found a jazz station and turned the volume up as high as it would go. He needed it loud, loud enough to drive these thoughts out of his head. Mrs. Peel couldn't be dead.

But...if she _was_ dead...

Steed gripped the wheel hard, so hard that the cuts in his right hand opened and started bleeding again.

Someone named Galaxy had killed her, not Lola. But it was Lola in Emma's body now, Lola who was alive. Lola who would go about prostituting her body. Using it to kill innocent people. To steal secrets. To betray her country. Worse than that. It was Lola who would see out of Emma's eyes, laugh out of Emma's lips. No. That would not happen. If Emma was dead, Lola was not going to live.

Steed pressed the accelerator hard down.

His anger was at a white hot pitch and he had to keep it there. It was that was keeping him sane right now. Anger and hatred.

Mrs. Peel _couldn't_ be dead.

He'd stared death in the face many times. So had Emma. They'd always been able to escape. To win out in the end. They'd saved their own lives. They'd saved each other's lives. They'd _always_ won out in the end.

Steed took his hands off the wheel and wiped them off on his slacks again. He blinked against the hotness in his eyes.

They were a team. They worked together as a team. If one needed help, the other one was right there to give that help. They could always count on each other...

Only he'd let her down this time. He hadn't been there for her. He hadn't even known he'd had to be there. She'd have been waiting for him, expecting him to be there, expecting him to _know_ that she needed him. He always did. Had she stared her killer down? Confidently expecting him to break in at the last moment? Had she felt the bullets enter her heart? Had she had time to think...he didn't come?

Steed's hands clenched on the steering wheel as hard as he could, feeling in it the soft throat of Lola.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Nerves jangling like wires in the wind indeed...

**II.**

**123 Gloster Lane, Leicester.**

Steed got out of the car and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest, assessing ways and means calmly. He was himself again. The core of white hot rage burned within him, undiminished.

It was a huge house, this - a central story, with a wing on either side. There were dozens of rooms in each wing. Even though it was a couple of hours before dawn, several of the rooms were still blazing with light. These bridge players...such a wild lot.

Well. Such a house would be teeming with servants. And if the guests in the house were awake, so would the servants be. Steed reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of twenty pound notes. Then he went up to the front door of the house and rang the doorbell.

He leaned against the door jamb, the pound notes protruding between his fingers. The door opened and a tall, portly butler stood there, his eyes on the notes in Steed's hand. "May I help you, sir?"

"The lovely Mrs. Emma Peel is playing bridge here this weekend," Steed said. "I'm an old friend, and I would dearly love to pay her a visit. What room is she in?"

The butler licked his lips, his eyes still on the forty pounds. "More than my job is worth, sir." he said hoarsely.

"Oh, I quite understand." Steed smiled charmingly. "But she knows me, I assure you. There are quite a lot of lights on in the house. Is she still chatting it up with her fellow bridge players?"

"I...I believe so, sir."

"Well then, that solves your problem. Just tell her...Basil is here, and wants to see her."

"Uh, yes sir." The butler twitched the notes out of his hand and turned away. "I shall return shortly, sir." He closed the door.

Steed remained leaning against the door jamb, his head tilted quizzically, his eyes closed. His heart was beating slowly, powerful, like a funeral drum. The butler returned and Steed smiled at him, whimsically.

"Mrs. Peel will see you in her room, sir." the butler said, po-faced. "She's in the west wing - the only guest staying in that wing, sir. If you will follow me."

The butler moved at a funeral pace, which suited Steed very well. The blood was roaring in his ears again. His belly was cold, but his heart was colder. He flexed the fingers of his cut hand, he'd need both hands for what he had to do...

The butler led him up to the second floor, and to a corner room at the far end of the wing. He knocked once on the door, lightly. Emma Peel opened the door wide.

It was her. It was Emma. Tall, slender, auburn hair perfectly coiffed. Chocolate brown eyes, patrician nose with its retrousse tip, high cheekbones, mobile mouth. White sweater outlining her perfect breasts. Black slacks outlining her perfect hips. She stared at him, and gave a slight smile. "Basil. Come in." She glanced at the butler. "Thank you, Jeeves."

Steed willed his legs to move and entered the room, jerkily. The woman in Emma's body closed the door. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Steed grabbed her around the throat and began to squeeze.

Lola seized one of his hands with both of hers, fingers seeking out pressure points. Using this leverage she ripped his hand from her throat, twisting his arm, causing him to arc away from her, and then she released one hand and used it to punch him in the face. He staggered back.

"Basil?" she gasped, holding up her hands, palms outward, in a calming motion. "_Basil_?"

"You don't seem pleased to see me, my dear." Steed said, wiping blood from his lip.

"You're the one who put your hands around my throat."

He smiled whimsically. "One look at you and I couldn't help myself."

"What are you doing here?" she asked again.

"I heard...what happened. To...Lola"

"Oh," she said. "Yes...it was a shock. I didn't expect Galaxy to take matters into her own hands. I feel terrible."

"Do you?" said John Steed.

"Of course I do! That wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Wasn't it?"

It was too much. Emma standing before him, lovely as ever. The same mannerisms. The same charm. And yet, not Emma. Lola. Emma was dead. Steed lunged for her again. No going for the throat this time. The arms. Imprison the arms and knock her out by slamming her against the wall - hard enough to break her neck.

Lola timed it perfectly, dropping down to her knees beneath his grasping arms, seizing his ankles and surging to her feet once more. Steed soared over her shoulders. He hit the floor and sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, facing her. He lifted his hands into boxing position and advanced slowly.

"What's your name?" Lola demanded. "Before we go on with this, tell me, what's your name."

"Who do you think I am?" Steed retorted.

"This morning, you didn't remember who you were."

Steed registered that, as with a belly blow, but said only "Well, now I do."

"Then the question is, who do you think I am?"

They stared at each other. Steed began to feel the first stirrings of hope. Could it be...? Simultaneously, as if a bell ending a round had rung, they dropped their arms. Steed turned, spied a chair and sat down in it. Lola backed up a few paces and sat down in another chair. They looked at each other warily.

"A month ago," Lola said, "John Steed and Emma Peel were assigned the task of tracking down the head of an assassination bureau. They heard that two agents from the Other Side, Basil and Lola, were going to be broken out of jail to work for this bureau. Now, do you remember any of that?"

"No. The last thing I remember is three months ago."

"Really? And what were you doing three months ago??"

Steed shook his head. "I'd much rather hear your story. Continue on."

"Two years ago, Basil and Lola attempted to take over the bodies of Steed and Emma using a machine designed by a Professor Kelmar. They failed, were captured and were sent to top security prisons. One machine was destroyed, a back-up still existed. It was believed, by a certain individual, that the head of this assassination bureau would have no problem in breaking Lola and Basil out of prison. So, this individual decided to be proactive. Are you with me so far?"

Steed wiped sweat from his forehead. "Keep going."

"Steed and Emma went to Basil and Lola, and proposed a deal. They would swap psyches, voluntarily this time. So when Basil and Lola were taken out of prison - it was actually Steed and Emma who were liberated."

Steed swallowed hard. "So Steed was in Basil's body, and Emma was in Lola's body. Then."

"That's right. The plan was for them to infiltrate the assassination bureau, and find out everything they could. Most important of all, they were to find out the name of the person in charge of the bureau. Also, they were to instigate things in such a way that they would be swapped back into their original bodies, so that they could continue on with the case as Steed and Emma."

"Very involved and convoluted and over-complicated plan," Steed said. "Typical of Major Bee."

"Ye-es..." said Emma Peel.

"So," she continued, "they broke Lola out first." She stared at him for long seconds, then gave a shrug as if to say 'no more cat-and-mouse'. _Me_. Emma Peel, in Lola's body. Then, a week ago, we went to break out Basil. John Steed, in Basil's body. Only something went wrong. A guard maced Steed-in-Basil's body, and threw him against the wall. End result, he lost his memory. He didn't know _who_ he was. And that's where things stood this morning."

John Steed took a deep, shuddering breath. He blinked away a sudden hot wetness in his eyes.

"So you're Emma Peel." he said hoarsely.

"That's right. The question is, who are you?"

"What do you _mean_, who am I?" He stood up, moved toward her. "Mrs. Peel, I'm me."

She was out of the chair in a flash, poised in a defensive posture. "You came here to kill me. Why?"

Steed stopped, backed up, sat back down. "A few hours ago, I was fighting with two men. Bouting, I suppose we must have been. I must have hit my head again. I knew I was John Steed, but the last thing I remembered happened three months ago. We went to a steeplechase, remember. You won a hundred pounds on Daylight."

Emma Peel's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"I played it well. Didn't let on. Got them to explain to me what was going on. They told me that ...Lola, three men, and a woman called Galaxy had left to kidnap Mrs. Peel. There was nothing I could do at that time. I didn't know where they were going. There was no way I could find out. All I could do was wait. Then, the three men returned. The American with the Roman haircut told the story. He said that they'd succeeded in kidnapping Mrs. Peel. He said that Lola, Mrs. Peel and Galaxy had gone into a house. He'd seen Lola and Mrs. Peel strapped to a machine. Lola went unconscious, Emma Peel woke up, and Galaxy killed Lola."

Steed spread his hands. "What was I supposed to think? I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that Lola was in your body and that you'd just been killed. That's what I thought."

"So you came here to kill Lola?"

Steed nodded.

Emma shook her head. "We _told_ Major Bee that this plan was too convoluted."

"I need a drink," Steed said.

Emma picked up a decanter from the sideboard, and poured out two large glasses. She placed one of them on a small end table, and with her foot shoved it close to him.

"Still don't believe I'm me, Mrs. Peel?" he said, leaning forward to pick up the drink.

"I've never seen Steed with tears in his eyes before,' Emma said quietly.

"You've never seen me think you were dead before. Something happened to the stiff upper lip, I can't deny it. I blame it on just a little too much liquor consumed earlier today."

This almost moved her, but Emma was nothing now if not cautious.

"I'm not sure. Basil-in-Steed's-body was under close supervision. But what if he decided he didn't like the deal anymore? What if he decided to break out? What if he somehow found out the address of the assassination bureau and paid it a visit. What if there were a third Kellmar machine and Basil knew about it, and what if Basil and Steed went to that machine, and now, you're not Steed, you're Basil. And you came here to kill me because you're broken up over Lola's death, and believe me responsible?"

"You've got a lot of what-if's there," Steed said.

"Impasse," said Emma Peel.

"Easily solved," said Steed. "Twitter."

"Twitter?"

"Twitter." Steed said, intently.

It rang a bell. Emma cast her mind back. "Bird impersonations aren't my strong suit," she said.

Steed snapped his fingers at her. "There, you see. Basil and Lola might know various incidents from our lives, but they can't know the exact words we spoke on any occasion. No one but us could know that."

Emma Peel nodded.

"All right. Let's see. One of our first cases. I was trapped in the sub-basement by a Cybernaut, and you came running in. What did you say?"

How could he ever forget? "The pen. Give it me."

"And I tossed it to you."

"And what did I tell you?"

"That it was a tracking device. And I told you to get rid of it. And what did you say?"

"'Don't worry, I will'. _Why_ did you say that, by the way? Did you actually think I was going to hang on to it?"

"It wouldn't have surprised me. That was when I first knew you, remember. You sometimes preferred brute force to guile. But attaching the pen to the other cybernaut's tunic, that was a stroke of genius."

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Peel."

God, it was her, and she was alive. He so wanted to get up...to kiss her...to embrace her...to make love to her. But not in this body.

"Steed," she said, "It's almost dawn. You've got to get back to the house."

"Why? We've got the information we needed, surely. Galaxy is the head of the Assassination Bureau. And who was the traitor who brought you here this evening, so you could be kidnapped?"

"Eric Joddrell," Emma said. "The M.P."

"Well, then, that's enough. This is what I think we should do. Let's go get Basil. Take him to the machine, and swop our psyches. Then we destroy that damn machine so that it can never be used again. And then we tell Basil that Lola was killed by a woman named Galaxy, and let him take it from there."

Emma stared at him. He'd been through so much - hell, they'd both been through so much. And they did have enough information to break the Assassination Bureau.

"All right, Steed," she said. "Let's go."

She turned, and opened the door. Filling it, holding a very big gun, was Galaxy.

**Chapter 5**

**I.**

"How inopportune," observed Mrs. Emma Peel.

"Quite so, dear lady." said Galaxy. "Verret."

There was a movement behind Galaxy, and Verret sidestepped into view. He too carried a gun.

"Well, you might as well come in," Emma said, opening the door wide.

"Thank you," said Galaxy. "Sit down first, if you please."

Emma backed up and sat down in her chair. She crossed her legs, slipping her shoe half off one foot. There was still a bit of whisky in her glass. She drained it.

Galaxy entered, moving lightly as a ballerina on her massive underpinnings. There were no other chairs, only the bed.

Steed made as if to get up. "Forgive my manners, dear lady. Here, have this seat."

"Sit down, Mr. Steed."

Steed sat back down with a shrug at Emma Peel. He picked up his own glass, but there was no liquor left in it. He pouted down at it.

Verret entered the room, walking very carefully on a path between Emma and Steed, to take up a position with his back to the windows. Galaxy took center stage.

"So," said Galaxy. "So. Emma Peel and John Steed. What a diabolical plan you two had devised."

"I don't know about diabolical," Steed protested. "Convoluted and complicated, I grant you."

"It doesn't matter now," Galaxy snapped. "You've failed."

"What are you going to do with us," Emma asked, reaching for the decanter and filling her glass full of liqour again. She put the decanter back down on the table and took a genteel sip.

Galaxy smiled. "You won't be leaving this room, my dear. This man," she gestured at Steed, "has a lover's quarrel with you, and strangles you. Then, reacting in grief to what he has done, he commits suicide. A sordid story, and all too common these days."

Steed and Mrs. Peel glanced at each other. "All too common," they agreed.

"Right." Galaxy extended her gun hand just a little bit, making sure Steed knew it was aimed right at him. "Verret, you may do the honors."

Verret grinned. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his slacks, flexed his fingers, and headed for Mrs. Peel. Mrs. Peel flicked her half-off shoe at him, and as he batted it away she followed it up with her glass of liquor, hitting him in the head.

Simultaneously, Steed flung his own glass at Galaxy. She ducked out of the way, which allowed Steed time to get to his feet and grab away the gun. Galaxy brought her fist around in a hammer blow, with all her massive weight behind it. Steed dropped to all fours.

Emma Peel barked, "Hold it, Galaxy."

Galaxy turned, slowly. Verret was on the ground, as out cold as a mackerel, and Emma was holding his gun trained on Galaxy's massive form. "Sit down," she ordered.

As calm as a Buddha, or a woman with friends in high places, Galaxy sat down.

Steed remained on his knees, clutching his head. "This just hasn't been my day," he moaned.

"Steed, if you tell me you've lost your memory again I will shoot you myself!" Emma exclaimed.

Steed lowered his hands. His nose was bleeding again. "I _hate_ this mustache. It's like a blood magnet." He wiped away the blood. He was sooo fed up with this day. "I want to go home, Mrs. Peel," he said, with calculated pitifulness. Emma picked up on it with a grin.

"And so you shall," she said. "Call the Major."

**II.**

John Steed unlocked the door to his flat, and stood aside for Mrs. Emma Peel to enter first. "I'll make us some coffee," she said.

Steed locked the door behind them, and then stretched out on his divan. It had been a long, sad day. They'd fetched Basil, they'd swapped psyches once again, and then they'd destroyed the machine. Then they'd told Basil what had happened to Lola. Emma had given him the deposition by Munsey - that it had been Galaxy who had killed Lola. They'd brought him back to the prison, to let Major Bee deal with fulfilling the terms of their agreement.

And now they were back in his apartment.

Emma sat down beside him, prompting him to sit up and accept the steaming hot cup of coffee she handed to him. He reached out with his free hand, and put it over hers.

"I didn't like this assignment, Mrs. Peel." he said. "I have a feeling if I remembered everything about it I'd like it even less."

"Oh, I don't know," Emma said, sipping coffee. "That morning when you'd revealed you'd lost your memory - for a whole week not knowing who you really were...I thought your reactions rather interesting. Rather...comforting, somehow."

"Comforting?"

"You fight the good fight, Steed," Emma told him, taking his coffee, and putting hers and his down on the coffee table. "You always have, and you always will."

"That's true," Steed admitted.

She came into his arms, and all was right with his world.


End file.
